


She's French?

by The_Capslock_Queen



Series: She is Not French [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Bilingual Jeremy, Bullying, Freshman Jeremy Heere, Freshman Year, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Jeremy is French, Light Angst, Madeline Pretending to be French, Madeline is a Bitch, Name-Calling, Pre-Canon, Prequel, part of a series but can be read as a stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Capslock_Queen/pseuds/The_Capslock_Queen
Summary: On his first day of Freshman Year, Jeremy makes a pleasant and then a not-so-pleasant discovery.





	She's French?

Jeremy Heere wasn’t the most sociable guy. He apparently wasn’t the most noticeable guy, either. And not in an “oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there” type of way, but in a you’d-think-he-was-a-ghost type of way. People acted like they could just walk through him. Which definitely wasn’t the case, because he was most certainly entirely solid. The result of that was that he was shoved and bumped around, into lockers, into walls, and into other people or even the floor almost every day.

If he’d expected his first day of high school to be any different (and, he had) he’d been sorely mistaken.

Jeremy rubbed his side, soothing his ribs. He didn’t think his body would ever grow immune to getting shoved into metal. Though he wished that could happen. He’d totally become a (not-very-impressive) superhero if that ever happened. Though “Immune To Metal Man” didn’t really have that  _Umph_  you’d expect from a superhero.

But he supposed he’d have to take it. He doubted he could ever become any more impressive than that.

Someone marched into him, sending him stumbling right back into the rows of lockers for the fourth time that day. When he looked back up after the first stab of pain had subsided, he was met with the scowling face of a pretty blonde girl.

“Watch where you’re going”, she sneered. Then she briskly walked off without so much as another glance at Jeremy.

Jeremy looked after her as he peeled himself off the lockers, disgruntled, as he rubbed his side, which was no doubt forming into one big bruise.

“Madeline!” The girl chirped, excitedly waggling over to a small group of girls taking up half the hallway.

“Ah, bonjour, Addison”, the girl the others were centred around replied.

_‘Bonjour’?_

Jeremy frowned, confused. Was that a thing girls said to each other nowadays?

Leader-Girl (Jeremy knew groups, having observed them quite often in middle school, and she was definitely their leader) tossed her long black hair back and leaned into the other girl’s space, only to give two air kisses, complete with smacking sound.

Curiosity piqued, Jeremy tucked himself into the closest niche he could find. People wouldn’t be bumping into him anymore, he could wait for Michael easily, and he could eavesdrop on the group of girls.

He knew eavesdropping wasn’t the greatest thing to do. He was sticking his nose – well, ear – where it didn’t belong. But Jeremy was, and always would be, a people watcher. He was interested in what others were up to, what they thought, and how they acted.

“I went to Paris over the summer”, the girl who bumped into him bragged, looking up at Leader-Girl (Madeline?) like a puppy looked up at its owner. “It was beautiful!”

“Yes, well, my hometown is quite nice”, Madeline said, voice lilting a bit strangely.

 _She’s from Paris?_  Excitement bubbled up in Jeremy’s stomach.  _She’s French? Like me?_

 _This could be your chance_ , a voice whispered in the back of Jeremy’s mind.  _You’ve got something in common. Surely, she must want to meet someone who’s French as well._

**_This is your chance to turn things around._ **

* * *

 Or maybe not.

Jeremy peeked around the corner, to where the group of girls were tittering merrily. Rivers pooled in his palms, heart beating erratically at the mere thought of going up there and talking to Madeline. He leaned back against the wall with a shaky inhale of breath, wiping his hands on his striped shirt.

This was a terrible idea. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. He was nowhere near brave enough – nor _cool_ enough – to attempt talking to Madeline.

His mental Michael scolded him gently at his negative thoughts. His _real_ Michael surely would too, as he’d come up with the plan to have Jeremy talk to Madeline during Lunch. It wasn’t much of a plan. The only thing Michael had said was “That’s great, Jeremy! You should totally go talk to her! During lunch is probably best.” And that concluded that. Jeremy had dutifully nodded along, all the while dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He’d been able to squash it long enough to make it to Lunch, and to find where Madeline’s group hung out, but the moment he’d spotted them, the anxiety erupted in a burst, sending all his nerves on high alert.

He shook his head. No, he had to do this. This was his chance.  If he waited any longer, if he let this opportunity pass, nothing would ever change for him. He’d always remain pathetic loser Jeremy Heere, scorned and bullied by his peers.

He took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to ease his nerves best he could, and before he could change his mind, he rounded the corner. He walked up to the group, legs feeling wobbly.

“Um”, he tried, softly, once he was next to them. The girls didn’t seem to hear him.

He swallowed thickly and gathered up all his courage. He had to do this now or never.

“Excuse me!” he near-yelled, startling at how loud he was.

Fear placed its claws on him when eight pairs of cold, furious eyes turned to him.

His gaze flicked to Madeline. She was the one he had to talk to. Don’t even look at the others.

With one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised, red painted lips turned downwards, Madeline asked: “What do you want?”

Jeremy sputtered.  Fuck. He hadn’t thought he’d actually come this far. What was he supposed to do now?

Okay. Rethink. What did he need to do?

His thoughts scrambled, a whirlwind going around his head, desperately searching for an idea.

Madeline was losing patience with him. He could see it in the narrowing of her eyes, the crossing of her arms, the tapping of her foot.

An idea pinged, and he was so relieved he could cry. But he didn’t have time for that. He had to say something, and he had to say it in French. The other girls wouldn’t understand him (Probably. Hopefully), and he could breach the topic of them both being French without as much awkwardness. It was the perfect idea. Now if only he could think of something to say.

Madeline cleared her throat and Jeremy jolted.

With no time left to think of anything, he stammered out: “ _I’m sorry to bother you. Really sorry. But, euh, I thought, maybe, well, we’re both French, so, maybe…_ ”

He trailed off uncertainly, his fingers fidgeting with each other, running nervous patterns across his skin. He kept looking at her, though. _Eye contact_ , Michael had told him, _You gotta maintain eye contact. That’s important._

Something flickered behind Madeline’s eyes. A flurry of emotions, passing too quick for Jeremy to identify. Only one stood out, lasting only a second: panic. But he must have read that wrong. There was not a single reason that came to mind why she would have to panic from what he said.

He wanted to say something else. But before he even had a chance to formulate anything in his head, Madeline’s eyes turned to steel.

Jeremy’s heart stuttered.

She addressed her friends first, her eyes never leaving Jeremy, only raising her voice to hallway levels: “Look at this loser. He came up here pretending to be French, can you believe that?”

The girls behind her giggled.

“Did you hear his accent? That was awful. Nothing he said made any sense.” So cruel. Jeremy’s stomach turned. “If you want to suck up to me to become popular”, she said with disdain, “at least learn some actual French. Freak.”

Jeremy wished the floor would swallow him up. Wished she wouldn’t speak so loud, for everyone in the hall to hear. He knew, he just _knew_ , that everyone was staring, laughing at him. ~~~~

_Look at that loser_ , he imagined their whispers, _Sucking up to Madeline? How pathetic._

Bile rose in his throat.

Madeline made a dismissive gesture with her hand, waving him off. “Get lost, loser.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything – couldn’t, even if he’d had anything to say. It was as if his mouth was seared shut – and nodded (What a stupid, _stupid_ move). He turned on his heels and sped out of the hall, hearing the twittering laughs of the girls following him out.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy aimlessly wandered the halls, which were well-near deserted now. He felt sick, stomach twisted in a million knots. His emotions weren’t faring any better. The more he walked, the more the situation sunk in, the more the stress left him, and the more he felt like he could break down crying in the middle of the hallway.

He wanted to go home.

He swallowed back the first sign of an onslaught of sobs and hurriedly looked around, searching for somewhere to hide. Somewhere no one would bother him, or see him cry. If he didn’t, if he broke down crying right then and there, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be doomed to a high school career of endless taunts and physical jabs – more so than in middle school.

Then he spotted the janitor’s closet. He rushed over and harshly twisted the doorknob, but the door didn’t budge. A swell of panic rushed him.

He tugged again, rattling the door, mentally screaming at it to open.  He could feel himself overflowing. He wouldn’t be able to keep all his emotions in check much longer and if he didn’t manage to open the door right that second –

The door opened.

Relief flooded him and he threw himself into the janitor’s closet, quickly pulling the door close behind him.

He sank down between the heaps of cleaning and working equipment, hiding himself as deeply into the closet as he could. He put his bag at his side as he pulled his knees up to his chest and curled himself into a ball. He pressed his shaking hand to his mouth, hoping it would keep him calm. He shuddered with a deep intake of breath.

Hot tears spilled over, running scorching trails down his cheeks and over his hand.

He sobbed.

His body rocked with the force of it, his breathing shaky and uneven.

Through blurry eyes, he searched for his phone in his bag. His motions were frantic and uncoordinated, but he managed to find it and open Michael’s contact.

_Pls cm get me im jeznotir clost_

He shakily hit sent and prayed Michael would find him soon.

**Author's Note:**

> You've reached the end of "She's French?" ! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm not completely satisfied with this fic, but that might be because I wrote it over the course of several months, in different states of tiredness. Some parts of this are better than others, I just hope they all fit together well!
> 
> I'm really sorry that I did this to our poor Jeremy :'') (I'm actually serious, I'm a horrible person for hurting this sweet boy in such a way. I mean, who does that??) But things do get better for him after this. Well, more so after the squipcident, but I mean, it gets better? So? Yay?
> 
> This fic is not beta-d.
> 
> Constructive Criticism is always welcome, but please be kind!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this fic! Thanks again for reading! :)


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